Charlottie 'lottie' Haze
â STAY UP 'TIL DAWN MAYBE THE WAY THAT I'M LIVING IS KILLING ME DO SHIT TO KEEP ME TURNED ON BUT ONE DAY I WOKE UP LIKE "MAYBE I'LL DO IT DIFFERENTLY". â
Sheâd been walking from class, her arms swinging loosely at her sides with a bag of skittles clutched lightly in her hand. She saw Lottie ( @hczcls ) across the quad and waved wildly at her trying to get her attention. She walked over to the blonde quickly, though she didnât run in her platform shoes. When she reached her, Miriam held out her hand with the candy in it. âHey, do you want this? I donât really like skittles, but I got it in class from some kind of example.âÂ
Lottie wasnât usually one to understand the niceties that came with friendship, she was used to having someone in her life until they usefulness expired, a horrible trait she had earned from her father. People were only as good as what they could give you, drugs, affection, sex, it didnât matter which⌠and currently Miriam was serving as a provider of sweets, the blonde raising a brow, âYou havenât been hording them in your pocket all day have you?â The blonde teased as she took the bag, âSo theyâre all crushed and melted together.â
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âYou hear that Ryan? Barbie over here says your dick is imperceptible to the human eye. Best fall back and retreat before it shrivels away and falls off in protest,â she told him, nodding her head sagely, giving him a pitying look. It probably wasnât best for the two of them to be provoking a man whose pupils looked blown out, but her gaze was absent of fear. He snatched his hand away from the girl, scoffing and taking a swig of whatever was in his cup. âYouâre not even that fucking hot,â he complained, a final jab before her turned on her, slinking away back into the fold of the party. Darby let out a yelping laugh, turning her attention to Lottie, sitting on the lounge next to hear. âYou hear that? Iâm not even that hot. However will I carry on? Iâm thinking of flinging myself out a window. You see a good balcony around here?â
âThereâs a balcony in the east wing thatâs pretty nice, but its also near some iron rod fencing so you really got to watch which way you fling yourself or youâre gonna end up like the littlest bitch in that Kirsten Dunst movie,â Lottie chugged down the remaining contents of her glass, humming some as she looked Darby over, âNow why exactly were you trying to get yourself punched in the face by the head captain of the tiny meat gang hm?â
Evangeline groaned, slamming her laptop screen down and sliding it across the oak table. She was this close to doing the same to her head. The assignment was complete and utter bullshit, what on earth was this professor thinking? This tort had nothing to do with the final exam. Ugh. Running her hands through her hair, the young woman sat in thought for a few moments of silent bliss. That was until a cold shiver ran down her spine, someone was looking at her. âCan I help you? Or do you have a habit of staring?â
âStaring?â Lottie raised a brow when the other blonde spoke, looking around and oohing when she realized she was confusing her for the librarian, âNo, no that was Ms. Hannigan over there, I think sheâs about ready to kick you out for all that huffing and puffing, you should like the kid who got his dick stuck in the vacuum cleaner,â Charlotte shrugged her shoulders before pulling the chair out by the girl, âLet me guess, last minute essay? Or⌠cramming before a big test? Or maybe youâre trying to write a really detailed break up text but it keeps coming out too clichĂŠ, the best thing to do is send a picture of you with your tongue down someone elseâs throat and block them, theyâll always wonder what the fuck happened but be too scared to approach it.â
Under the cut is the questionare, some themes are heavy so watch out for the trigger warnings!
tw: Â alcoholism, drug addiction, death, grief, overdose, child neglect, child abuse, underage sex, porn.
MUSE NAME:Â
Charlotte âlottieâ Hale
HOW DOES YOUR MUSE FEEL IN GENERAL ABOUT THE GOSSIP BLOG? WHAT IS THEIR OPINION OF IT?
Growing up the daughter of a rockstar, Lottie looks at the gossip blog like any normal tabloid, she thinks itâs pathetic and invading, but thinks sheâs smart enough to evade anything dire getting out about herself.
WHO DO THEY THINK KILLED DAHLIA?
âSomeone who wanted the bitch dead,â Not really though, Lottie hasnât thought too much about it really, but she tends to avoid thinking about other people if need be.Â
WHAT IS YOUR MUSEâS BIGGEST SECRET (FROM THE APPLICATION)? PLEASE GIVE US AS MUCH DETAIL AS POSSIBLE.
Lottie has plenty of secrets, but she tends to live her life like an open book. considering its been hard to hide things. Because of her upbringing sheâs used to things getting out, everyone knows who her dad is, everyone knows about her addictions, her recovery, her less than cheery attitude... but the only thing she hides is the fact she uses an OnlyFan account to keep up her frivolous spending and lavish lifestyle. Her grandparents cut her off pretty constantly. their punishment for her not wanting to change her ways, and to keep up with her spending habits she has a finsta thatâs tied to an onlyfans account as well as a private link to a cam site, making quick and easy money off doing what ever she wants.
THE GOSSIP BLOGGERS ARE SUSPECTED TO BE SKILLED HACKERS. IS THERE ANYTHING ON YOUR MUSEâS PHONE, COMPUTER OR SOCIAL MEDIA ACCOUNTS THAT WOULD REVEAL INFORMATION ABOUT THEIR SECRET? WHAT IS THE DIGITAL TRAIL?
Thereâs plenty that could tie back to her, she hides her face and changed her name but an IP address is an IP address, that much sheâs aware of.Â
DOES ANYONE ELSE KNOW THEIR SECRET? FAMILY MEMBERS, FRIENDS, ENEMIES?
Only her best friend, Quinn.
WHAT WOULD YOUR MUSE DO IF THEIR SECRET WAS EXPOSED ON THE GOSSIP BLOG? WHAT WOULD THE CONSEQUENCES BE?
Her grandparents would disown her, give up on helping her completely, and sheâd be cut off from her cashflow and lifestyle.Â
ARE YOU OKAY WITH THEIR SECRET BEING EXPOSED ON THE BLOG?
Absolutely!
WHAT ARE SOME OTHER SECRETS/REGRETS THAT THEY MIGHT HAVE?Â
W/C wise sheâs definitely slept with plenty of her âfriendsâ boyfriends, slept with professors for better grades or extensions, there was a hit and run incident last spring and sheâs still not sure what happened to the guy on the bike, something she doesnât think about alot.Â
ANYTHING ELSE YOUR MUSE IS HIDING FROM OTHERS?
She likes to pretend sheâs completely recovered from her drug addictions, that she only dabbles with weed and goes to the Calloway parties under the influence of alcohol only, but sheâs relapsed plenty of times and tends to be a bad influence on the other NA members she associates herself with.
ANYTHING ELSE YOU THINK WE SHOULD KNOW ABOUT YOUR MUSE TO CREATE DRAMA AND CHAOS ON THE GOSSIP BLOG?
She also signed a NDA to not let anyone know that the heroin she ODâd on back when she was seventeen was given to her by her father, not wanting to ruin his career if that information got out.Â
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Delilah looked up at the moon and it highlighted the lone, glaring abnormality of an otherwise cookie cutter image: white Mary-Janeâs with a mini and shirt to match, her eyelashes were dark blue rather than black, the shade of the sky six minutes âtil midnight. She had a white Sobranie between her lips and a blank, expectant expression, chin tipped as she waited on a boy in the shadows of the porch to light her. When he cursed, shaking it out, she let out a breath like this was all such a boring inconvenience. âYou can go,â she instructed him, all cheekbones and feline scrutiny as her attention fell on the next out the Calloway doors â for barely a wisp of a thing, hips sharp as teeth, she possessed an extremely large presence. Sure of herself while simultaneously unsure of everything. A royal swan with a nasty peck in itâs arsenal. The boy fell away like a dandelion clock carried by the breeze: inconsequential, already forgotten. âSpare a lighter for a wailing maiden?â Her face was still. âMy favourite died. Awfully torn up about it. Besides myself,â she stated, like it hadnât been rightfully confiscated when she tried to set the corner of a curtain on fire â it was a lax of the wrist, sheâd claimed, absolutely unintentional, because of course she wouldnât do something like that, she was an Astor. When they didnât relent, she parted to smoke with a âyouâre insufferably dull, you knowâ. Blankly delivered. Patience thin. âKnow of any tiny violinists I can hire to play the funeral? HmâŚâ The breeze stirred. Goosebumps breached her legs like a dozen shark fins from smooth waters. Delilah didnât react â Delilah never reacted, particularly, to anything. âIs Stuart Little classically trained?âÂ
The breeze was warm, coating her in sticky heat that made her skin crawl as she leaned over the stone railing, gazing down at the shrubbery below, verdant eyes blinking slowly trying to focus in on the tiny marble angel holding the crystal globe. It was enough to keep her attention for now, thoughts bouncing around like run away rabbits, always at loss for time, always late, late, late. Her attention was pulled though at the sound of a sharp voice, Delilah Astor, speaking in pretty joking words that the poor Calloway boy seemed at a loss for. At his departure the other blondes attention directed towards Lottie, making her hum as she offered her dads lighter to her, silver and branded with the Stillborns logo, a vulgar morbid little thing, but it reminded her of home. âIâm going to be honest with you babe,â Lottie muttered as she slid the lighter back into her bra once Lilahâs cigarette was lit, turning and leaning against the railing with a huff a smoke, ashing her cigarette out on the stone, âI donât know who the fuck Stuart Little is.â
Furry jacket, stolen from a thrift shop, draped around her shoulders, Darby stared at the man in front of her with blank brown eyes. She was seriously regretting choosing to invite the football team to a Calloway party. She sipped her drink as he spoke, the man clearly oblivious to the signals of repulsion she was giving off, his mouth far too close to hers as he basically shouted into her face. Waving a hand at his sour breath, she grimaced, red lips forming an upside-down smile. His hand reached out to touch her, Darby snatching it with cat-like fast reflexes, examining his palm as her eyes grew wide. Her fingers traced over his palm, the boy looking at her oddly as her blue eyes examined it. âWhoa, do you see this? They call this line on your palm the Dick Line. Supposed to tell you how big it is. Looks like yours is itty bitty,â Darby rattled off, catching the gaze of the person closest to her as Ryan started on in confusion, devilish grin on her face like she had just blown out the birthday candles on your cake. âWhat do you think? Does Ryan here look like he has a prize hog or a baby carrot?â
The Calloway parties were everything the supposedly recovered girl could dream of, free alcohol, rich assholes tossing coke at her like it was pixie dust, and the drama, oh the drama was enough to entertain her for weeks, lounging on a velvet chair while Darby examined the palm of one of the meat-headed lacrosse players, âBaby carrot,â Lottie tilted her head resting her cheek on her palm with a bored sigh, âFrom personal experience, its like a fat little⌠Vienna sausage just resting on his balls, which are insanely small, honestly the roids have done you in man, might as well give it up now before it completely collapses into your body and you turn into a glorified Ken doll,â
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adam glanced up from his book, fully not expecting the girl across from him to have spoken. heâd muttered a âis this seat taken?â before sitting down and nothing.  âlike âŚÂ write it in sharpie, tattoo? or. full on, break out the tattoo gun and go to town on that guyâs cheeks?â he put a pencil in his textbook to mark his place, figuring that this was going to be an interesting conversation.  âa lot of people do. thatâs like, a third of the party population. have you seen the amount of people with dicks on them?â
âTattoo gun,â Charlotte muttered, âI bought it off Amazon when I was drunk a couple weeks back, and then last night I had a little uh, party or whatever and he was just... laying there,â The blondeâs nose wrinkled, nodding some as she offered over her arm to the other, wrist turning and showing the tiny stick and poke tattoo of a cock and balls on the inside of her wrist, âYeah I was sixteen and thought it be hilarious, itâs pretty detailed though I was impressed.â
âMorally I know tattooing Martha Dumptruck on a guyâs ass while heâs blacked out is bad but,â Lottieâs shoulders shrugged lazily, fingers tracing the spirals of her notebook as she looked up at the person sitting across from her in the library, âBut honestly who passes out at a party just, out in the open like that? Like its what he gets, heâs lucky i didnât go for the forehead.â
hello hello hello !! itâs been a minute since i was in a group setting so forgive me for any mishaps, i am but a lost soul. anywho under the cut is a bit about my child lottie, sheâs a mess and a thousand but love her anyways! hmu if you would like to plot or have any wanted connections you can see this child fitting in!
tw: Â alcoholism, drug addiction, death, grief, overdose, child neglect, child abuse, underage sex, porn.
APP.
( dove cameron, cisfemale ) - Have you seen CHARLOTTE HALE? LOTTIE is in HER JUNIOR YEAR OF STUDY year. The JOURNALISM MAJOR is/are 23 years old & is a SCORPIO . People say SHE is/are CHARISMATIC, INDEPENDENT, AGGRESSIVE and CRUEL. Rumors say theyâre a member of CALLOWAY. I heard from the gossip blog that HAS A ONLYFANS. Â (mon. 25. est. she/her.)
AESTHETICS.
the last breath during a chilly night out, champagne flutes and forgotten cigarettes on bar counters. melodic laughter of a child unhinged, Â fur coats and ripped fishnet stockings, warm hands on cold bodies, spinning until your ears ring and your stomach curdles, the 3 AM headache from a long night out. the screeching sound of the electric guitar, broken glass scattered across an unkempt home, the hollowness of loneliness, blasting music echoing through empty halls, sandy hallways and discarded clothes, screened phone calls and short voicemails, stacks of medical bills and scattered chips of redemption.
- hereâs her board!!
SYNOPSIS.
In short, Lottie Haze fits into the clichĂŠ realm of a spoiled rich socialite. Growing up the daughter of a famous rockstar did nothing for her humbleness, being the heiress of a family fortune made before her father in the fashion of famous Las Vegas casinos, Lottie was doomed to a life of narcissism and selfishness from the start. Her life is a blur before coming to Yates, she doesnât delve much into her past and doesnât stand for the curios pokes and prods from her fellow peers after they watch all the documentaries about her past. Drug abuse, life on the road, the death of her mother, her own overdose at such a young age before being plucked out of her fatherâs arms. Lottie doesnât think about it, doesnât speak about it, but itâs all there, edited from time to time on Wikipedia. Famous for being nothing but the child of the rich, Lottieâs a lot more than meets the eye, but at paper-thin, sheâll allow most to think sheâs the typical Instagram influencer, rich, pretty girl plagued with basicness and ignorance.
HISTORY.
Charlotte Hazeâs parents werenât good for each other. It wasnât a healthy relationship; it wasnât made from start dust and fairytales. It was a match made in hell, two selfish souls uniting in a mix of tequila and heroin in the back of the Stillbornsâ tour bus. Ricky Danger was her father, a name coined from the mind of a self-indulging teenager with too much time on his hand and brain clouded with too many pills. When Jeanette Haze, daughter of a multibillionaire hotel and casino owner, told him the news of their child he was excited, not thinking of the dangers and responsibilities that came along with a child born of wedlock and on the road. Charlotte couldnât remember a time in her childhood when things were normal, nothing was the cookie-cutter dream house that most children fantasize about, they had no real home, she had no real toys, no friends her age, everything was clouded with smoke and glamour, money and gifts sent to her by her grandparents who couldnât gain control of their wild daughter and her idiot of a boyfriend  who was too busy dragging their toddler all over the world with them.
Her mother died of heart failure when she was eight, something that happened so fast that she barely had time to register what it was. There were two funerals, the respectable one full of family members sheâd never met who touched her blonde curls, cradled her chubby cheeks, told her how much she looked like her mother and the one thrown by her father. Where men all spoke highly of her departed mother, where alcohol was passed around, stories were told, and the friends she grew up with made her smile and laugh, instead of feeling lost and alone. Lottie was too young to know what was going on behind closed doors, too sheltered from her grandparents to know that they were doing everything in their power to take her away from her father, who simply brushed the death of her mother off his shoulders, and carried on in life, numbed by booze and drugs. This lifestyle wasnât something a child should grow up in, an idiot knew that, but Ricky didnât see a problem with it, he didnât see how damaging it was, he didnât care, and once he thought Lottie was old enough, he shared it with her.
Charlotte was 11 the first time she got drunk, 12 the first the time she smoked weed, 13 the first time she had sex, and fourteen when she first got addicted to cocaine. The list grew as she did, the perfect little star on the road, the daughter of the worldâs âbestâ guitarist, the lead singer of The Stillborns. He was so proud of his girl, he loved her more than anything, and she lived to make him proud. She could remember the concerned looks from tutors on the road, her father hiring them to make sure he could keep Lottie at his side, having her learn from the strangers when she could, paying them off not to speak about the things his daughter was involved in, and everyone turned their head, said nothing. Charlotte didnât know any better, the life she lived was all she knew, all she loved. Sex, drugs, and rock & roll, just like her mother, she was truly the perfect girl, just like her father had wanted her to be.
That all changed when she was seventeen. when one night her father must have misjudged the dose he helped her shoot into her veins. Ricky had had his fair share of overdoses, his own, his buddies, even the one that put his wife into cardiac arrest and took her from him. Though when his daughter started to convulse, he couldnât bring himself to do much of anything but push her onto her side and dial 911. He left her in the dutiful hands of his band manager and a family friend before he left her alone to wake up in the hospital with no clue what had happened, no idea where her he was, and an onslaught of CPS agents, police, and paparazzi.
It was all that was needed for her grandparents to finally get custody of Charlotte, proof of her fatherâs neglect, proof of his horrible influence of the young girl. Lottie waited for him, waited for him to show up at the hospital, show up at court, show up to fight for her, but he never did. He never called, he never wrote, and when Charlotte was moving in with her grandparents in their little ranch in Las Vegas after spending months in a rehabilitation center, she still heard nothing from her father. The tides changed then, Charlotte realized she couldnât go on living the way she had, the way her mother had, so rather than wait until the day she was eighteen to go back to her old life, she made a new one, or at least she tried to. It was a twisted Cinderella story, at least thatâs how the news showed it. The once tragic life of a child of rock & roll turned into the sugary sweet life of a beautiful Instagram star, Charlotte Haze coined a new life for herself, with the watchful and worried eye of her grandmother.
PRESENT.
College seemed like something that would be good. A set routine, a new chance at life, a way to start overâŚÂ sure she didnât do the best at school on the road but was that her fault or the environments. It would be something normal, a true school environment she never got to experience.  Vermont was far, but with some tears and lots of convincing, she was able to get them to agree to let her leave. , and they made sure to give her everything she needed to get on well, with a few standards she had to meet at least. Music would always be apart of Charlotteâs life, even if her father wasnât, so she figured journalism would be good for her, getting to explore the lives of all the musicians and artists but while also keeping a safe distance from the true lives some lived on the road, not wanting to break her vow to herself, to avoid any and all triggers to her past.
Sheâs been sober for a while, though the bumps of life have given her a few setbacks, relapsing is part of the process, after all, at least thatâs what she told herself each time she embarrassingly returned to her NA meetings or faced the disappointed look of her grandmother who controlled her allowances, basing how much money she fed to the spoiled girl by how stable her life seemed to be at the time. Lottie was going to live her life for herself, she did what she wanted, how she wanted it, though she put on her best appearances for her grandmother, after all, it wasnât like she was actually going to get a job to support herself, not when she had all the money she could ever ask for in her namesake alone.
SECRET.
Lottie is used to having things handed to her, sheâs used to being able to spend her money frivolously, with no care or worry of consequence. But when her grandparents cut her off and the cash flow stops coming in, thereâs not much for her to do to keep her materialistic life up. Sure she could get a job on campus, work at a book store, the coffee shop, the record store⌠but Lottie doesnât like to work⌠and she has little patience for tedious things⌠and so her genius idea was to make money off doing the one thing she never got bored of, sex. Lottie has a secret camgirl/porn account that she earns extra cash from, itâs not something sheâs ashamed of at all, but she doesnât want it getting out on account of her old money grandparents and her widely known father, the last thing she wants to be is a cliche, even if sheâs happily living as one.
TLDR.
So basically, Lottieâs got a tricky background, sheâs rich af, spoiled af, bitchy af, and kind of just does what she wants whenever she wants. Sheâs up and down with her sobriety, views everything pretty cockeyed, considering she doesnât want to trigger herself into using again, but will down a bottle of Grey Goose with little consideration of the consequences. Sheâs got a lot to hide still, gets her inheritance from her grandparents and that can be easily toyed with, considering they view her life with a magnifying glass. Connection wise sheâs open to anything, hookups, passed hookups, exâs, FWBs, frenemies, best friends, sheâs bi and ready to cry so please, love her.
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